


Fuck You Too, Biology.

by transoberyn



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, Grantaire's shitty parents, M/M, Éponine is having none of your shit Enjolras
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1278874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transoberyn/pseuds/transoberyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire's shitty parents caused him to run away from home the second he turned 18. Éponine took him under her wing, and helped him build a new persona as a beta. Even as Grantaire struggled to mask the fact that he was an omega, he couldn't help but be extremely attracted Enjolras, the alpha leader of Les Amis de l'ABC. As Grantaire's heat neared and his heat suppressants struggled to keep up, Enjolras decided to lose all sense of personal space. Great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fuck You Too, Biology.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this took me like, 2 days to write. It was a truly harrowing experience, I assure you. Everyone else was jumping on the A/O/B bandwagon, so I was like, why the hell not? Sorry about the tense change from summary to work; I couldn't quite figure out how to make Grantaire's backstory change to present day without fucking up the tenses. In case anyone was wondering, the dubious consent is because Grantaire and Enjolras do discuss whether or not it's okay for Enjolras to come over on the phone, Grantaire's really not in the state of mind to be making those kinds of decisions. If you find any errors, please let me know! There's a good chance of me writing another chapter; this work was so much easier to write than anything else I've ever written.

Grantaire walks out of the supermarket, glad to have that ordeal over with. He always gets so nervous buying beta shampoo; somehow he thinks that one day a policeman is going to magically appear with his birth certificate and drag him off to be an indentured servant somewhere. _Not if I can help it_ ,  He thinks to himself grimly, checking to make sure he’s not slipping back into his old walking style.

 

Growing up with extremely “traditional” parents is hard enough when you’re a beta, let alone an omega. You’re a disappointment to the family; the weak link in the genetic coding. Grantaire likes to think he can imagine the argument his parents had with the hospital staff on the day of his birth: _“There must be a mistake, doctor! Check him again! He’s got to be an alpha! If he shows up as an omega again, then clearly you’ve got the wrong baby.”_

 

Sometimes he wishes they had convinced the staff that they had mixed up which baby was which; it probably would have been a hell of a lot easier to grow up non-traumatised. As it is, Grantaire’s had to use every inch of his willpower to train himself out of his old habits. Make direct eye contact with everyone, take up as much space as possible, have the same amount of manners as a common-born alpha, walk with his shoulders and not with his hips.

 

Needless to say, the instant Grantaire had turned eighteen he’d skedaddled out of his parents house as quickly as possible. He hadn’t wanted to wait around long enough for them to try to force marriage onto him. _That’s the only thing he’s good for,_ his parents had said constantly, shaking their heads disapprovingly. _No brains, no brawn, no charisma. Only that useless art._

 

The first semi-friendly person Grantaire had met when he was out on the streets was Éponine. She had found him huddled near a dumpster under the only blanket he’d thought to pack when he’d run away from home.

 

“Hey. You. You need a place to live? It’s not much, but I live in an apartment with my siblings, and you look like you could use the help.”

 

Grantaire had looked up at her with a look of joyous disbelief.

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah, really. I also know a good place to get high quality heat suppressants for cheap; you smell like you could use that help.”

 

That had been the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Since then, they’ve moved to a slightly less sketchy location than the Thénardiers’ original apartment. Grantaire had moved to the apartment across from theirs shortly after picking up his first real job, and they’re still cohabiting to this day.

Grantaire’s become a passable beta with the help of Éponine, and Éponine’s gotten out of extreme poverty with the help of Grantaire’s extra paycheck. It’s a symbiotic relationship, really.

 

Grantaire walks to the subway station, always careful to not be too careful around any alphas he walks past on the way there. After he boards the train, he sends a text to Éponine.

 

**R: i got your shampoo and my shampoo**

**R: also some steak that was 50% off**

**R: how would you guys like to come over for dinner tonight before the meeting**

**Éponine: sure. i could always use some extra nutrients before listening to a bunch of white alphas talk about oppression.**

Grantaire smirks to himself. Éponine and he had joined a social activism club called Les Amis de l’ABC when they’d gained enough traction to be at least relatively financially stable. At first it was just to laugh at the ridiculous optimism  of the majority of the members, but slowly and surely they had been incorporated into the group of friends.

 

Grantaire steps off of the subway, snarling at an alpha businessman who shoves past him, clearly in a hurry. The man looks back at him and does a double take, scenting the air suspiciously. Ignoring the warning bells going off in his head, Grantaire glares at the man defiantly. The alpha eventually gives up trying to find anything questionable in Grantaire’s scent, shrugging to himself, then swearing when he realises he’s made himself even more late.

 

Grantaire walks as quickly as possible back to the apartment, determined to take a shower and re-up his beta scent before the meeting. The last thing he wants is for _Enjolras_ to figure out he’s an omega and try to make Grantaire into some kind of martyr for The Cause; an example of the injustices committed towards the “oppressed.” As much as Grantaire dislikes his parents and the way they brought him up, there is no way he ever wants to talk about them to anyone but Éponine.

 

Grantaire unlocks the door to his apartment, whistling cheerfully. He starts the steaks marinating, then goes out onto his tiny balcony to start his mini-grill heating up. Little did his parents know, when they were forcing him to take all those cooking and proper house cleaning classes, that they were essentially giving him all the tools he needed to live independently. They had, instead, been attempting to give him the tools he needed to live dependantly with a tool. _Not about that life,_ he thinks to himself, turning on the shower. He’s mastered the art of timing his shower exactly right to be able to continue cooking directly after he’s gotten dressed.

 

Grantaire combs his fingers through his hair, sighing in relief as he can almost feel the hormones from the shampoo soaking into his hair and scalp. The stuff wears off ridiculously fast, and he has to shower at least twice a day in order to maintain the illusion of beta-ness. Éponine has the same problem; at least there isn’t any gender discrimination when it comes to fake hormone shampoo.

 

After what seems like an incredibly short five minutes of showering, Grantaire shuts off the water and grabs a towel off the rack. He still has to keep his hot water usage to a minimum, even after working so hard to get out of poverty. Minimum wage = minimum hot water.

 

He looks critically at his reflection in the mirror, grimacing at the acne scars on his back still leftover from puberty. Shaking his head, he finishes drying off his body at record speed, refusing to waste any more time whinging over his poor appearance in the mirror. Pulling on a black t-shirt and a dark green hoodie with a pair of dark jeans, Grantaire saunters out to the kitchen. His timing is perfect, as per usual, and the grill is just the right temperature to start the steaks on when he gets to the balcony. Once the lid has been put down, he goes back to the kitchen and peels the potatoes he picked up at the store with the steak. He plops them unceremoniously into a pot of water, cranking up the heat.

 

There’s a banging on the door, then it’s shoved open by a gangly teenage boy with too long hair and too long arms. He’s followed by a petite girl with fierce eyeliner and her hair pulled up into a perfect bun, and a tired looking woman with her hair arranged in a haphazard ponytail.

 

“I’m here, I’m queer, where’s the food?” Gavroche crows loudly, looking around expectantly.

 

“Calm yourself, kiddo. I just started cooking it, for Christ’s sake,” Grantaire laughs, shaking a spoon at him in mock scolding.

 

“Dangit!” Gavroche says, then skips over and flops down on Grantaire’s ratty but incredibly comfortable couch, pulling out the iPhone he actually works a real part-time job (as opposed to pickpocketing) in order to pay the bills for.

 

Azelma smiles shyly, then follows her brother to the family room-ish area, walking with light steps, then flopping gracelessly onto a beanbag chair. Éponine shoves the salad she brought with her into the fridge, and pulls out a beer while she’s at it. They have a custom: whoever isn’t hosting has to bring either a salad or a dessert. Salad’s cheaper than dessert, so it’s typically the food of choice.

 

“So how are things?” Éponine asks, like she didn’t just eat breakfast with him this morning.

 

“Oh, you know. Working three jobs, single mother of five, that sort of thing,” Grantaire replies, laughing even as she smacks him on the back of the head.

 

“You know what I mean. Have any alphas look at you suspiciously? I know you’ve been keeping track of your hypothetical heat cycle, which means that I also have been keeping track of your hypothetical heat cycle. I know it’s coming up, which makes it more difficult for the beta shampoo to do the job it’s supposed to.” Éponine cuts straight to the point, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“I did get an odd look from an alpha on the subway on my way home, but that was probably because it’d been awhile since I’d taken a shower. It’s going to be fine, I’m sure of it,” Grantaire responds confidently, pulling a beer out of the fridge for himself as well.

 

“Luck favors the prepared,” Éponine says in a perfect Edna Mode voice, cracking up when he makes a face at her. “Really though, you should be careful. Accidents are not an option when you’re an omega in hiding, seriously.”

 

“I know, I know,” Grantaire replies, his brow creasing with worry. “Don’t forget that I’ve been practicing self-defense since you first rescued me off the streets. I can handle myself in the event of some creepyass alpha deciding to try to have their way with me in public.”

 

Éponine nods approvingly.

 

“That’s my boy.”

 

Grantaire goes out to flip the steaks, and when he comes back in Éponine and Gavroche are in a heated debate over which character in Vikings is the best.

 

“Bjorn!”

 

“Lagertha!”

 

“Bjorn!”

 

“Lagertha!”

 

“Bjorn!”

 

“You only like Bjorn because he’s a dweeby teenager like you!”

 

“He’s a strong character! Also, he picked Lagertha over Ragnar, so you should like him too.”

 

“He bears too much of a resemblance to you personality-wise for me to even consider liking him as a person. Sorry kiddo, but I deal with your whiny teenage bullshit often enough that I don’t need to hear it from a white boy who is far too young to be attempting to kill people.”

 

This continues on in a similar fashion until the steak was ready, with Azelma frequently punctuating the conversation with exasperated sighs as she fails to beat her high score in Fall Out Bird yet again.

 

“Soup’s on!” Grantaire yells after he’s finished setting the kitchen table.

 

Gavroche and Azelma race each other to the table, Azelma beating him by a hair's breadth and picking out the most delicious looking steak in a record amount of time. Éponine comes over at a much slower pace, long ago having resigned herself to getting third best with two highly competitive younger siblings.

 

Both teenagers fall on the meal like rabid dogs, never quite having gotten over the instinct to eat as much as possible when they have food available. They’re done eating after about ten minutes, and go back to playing on their phones while Éponine and Grantaire eat their meals at a much more leisurely pace.

 

The ones to wash the dishes are Grantaire and Azelma; they’re picked from a glass bowl Grantaire had acquired simply because it looked exactly like the bowl used to pick out tributes for the Hunger Games in the movie. When all is said and done, it’s about 7:20.

 

“Just enough time to get to the Musain fashionably late,” Éponine remarks as she and Grantaire start the five block trek to the cafe where Les Amis hold their meetings.

 

Exactly as Éponine had predicted, they arrive at 7:32 on the dot; 7:31 seeming like they were actually trying to get there on time and 7:33 just being plain rude. Enjolras shoots them a disapproving look as they waltz through the door, already outlining the plan for their next rally.

 

“We will protest this new anti-abortion law on April 2nd.”

 

“That way they’ll know that it’s too late to make it look like a joke!” Joly interjects, causing Bossuet to dissolve into silent giggles next to him.

 

Enjolras rolls his eyes good-naturedly, and continues on with his speech.

 

“As most of you most likely know, this is a law targeted at omegas. It states in no uncertain terms that it will make it as difficult as possible for omegas, single or in a relationship, to get abortions. I believe that if we get enough people rallying to our cause, the legislation will have no choice but to repeal it.”

 

Grantaire snorts into his beer, drawing a sharp glance from Enjolras.

 

“Yes, Grantaire? Is there something you’d like to say on the matter?”

 

“Do you really think the legislation cares about the opinions of the working class? Please, they only care about the support of the wealthy. And the wealthy only care about having as much offspring as possible, which is made possible with the overworking of omegas. There’s no way in hell you’re going to be able to convince them to repeal this law,” Grantaire says, trying to ignore the voices of his parents in his head, telling him the exact same thing over and over again.

 

“They cannot ignore the working class any longer! They know this; they too have gone through the standard historical education, and have heard of all the rebellions that have happened when the government didn’t listen to the poor,” Enjolras argues, pointing behind him to the framed print of Liberty Leading the People he has hanging on the wall of the meeting room.

 

“And just how many of those rebellions worked, hmm? They know the statistics, Enjolras. They’ll only be paying attention to the June Rebellion, not the July Revolution,” Grantaire countered, smirking when he saw Enjolras grasping for words.

 

“They will agree to repeal the law, or they will see just how much the statistics mean,” Enjolras states with no uncertainty in his voice. “They will know the meaning of history repeating itself.”

 

                                                                                             ___________________________

 

After the meeting, Enjolras walks over to the table where Grantaire and Éponine are laughing hysterically at something Joly has just said. Grantaire’s laughter cuts off the moment he sees Enjolras.

 

“Greetings, Oh Fearless Leader. What brings you to grace us with your presence on this fine evening?”

 

Enjolras sits down in the chair at the head of the table, right next to Grantaire. Grantaire catches a whiff of quite possibly the most attractive alpha scent he’s ever smelled, and wrestles with his subconscious to _not. Look. Submissive._

 

“I was wondering if you would be interested in designing some flyers for this rally. I know you don’t really support the cause, but I would pay you well for it,” Enjolras says earnestly.

 

“It’s not that I don’t support the cause, it’s more like I think that the cause is completely unrealistic and will most likely never come to fruition,” Grantaire replies, cursing internally as Enjolras’s frustration level rises and Grantaire has to dig his nails into his hand to refrain from sliding to the floor and begging for forgiveness on his knees. “I’ll make your fliers, but keep your money. It’s not worth paying me for a half-assed sketch that only takes me ten minutes, tops, to come up with.”

 

“Nonsense. I know you and Éponine are both in fragile economic situations, and that you can’t afford to lose a single possible paycheck. How does 30 euros sound? I don’t think it’s too overkill.”

 

“I don’t need your fucking charity, rich boy,” Grantaire practically snarls, overcompensating for his hormones.

 

Enjolras is about to respond when he cuts off in the middle of opening his mouth, drawing in a deep breath through his nose. He leans forward, seemingly on autopilot, and puts his nose so it’s just brushing the crook of Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire makes an undignified whimpering sound, and curses the rush of heat it sends into his lower stomach. Enjolras opens his mouth and presses it to the juncture of Grantaire’s neck and shoulder, and Grantaire just feels the ghost of his tongue before Éponine is violently pulling Enjolras back.

 

Grantaire makes a little whining noise in protest, too out of it to care if he sounds stupid. Enjolras’s eyes lose their glaze the instant he forcefully hits the back of the chair, Éponine’s hands holding him in place. Joly and Bossuet have stopped their conversation, and are staring in shock at Enjolras.

 

“Back. The fuck. Off,” Éponine growls, clearly not afraid to get in Enjolras’s face even after what just happened.

 

Grantaire comes back to himself bit by bit, cursing biology for the raging hard-on he’s now sporting. Enjolras looks horrified with himself, blue eyes filling up with tears.

 

“I’m so sorry! I don’t know what came over me. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

 

Éponine eyes him warily, letting his shoulders go and sitting back down.

 

“You’d better not,” she says threateningly, pulling one of her many pocket knives out of her sports bra. “You pull a stunt like this again, I’ll fucking cut your balls off. Don’t test me.”

 

Enjolras nods furiously, looking furious with himself and very afraid of Éponine at the same time.

 

“Grantaire, you okay?” Éponine asks, looking at him concernedly. Grantaire makes a high pitched whining noise in response, which causes Éponine to shoot another glare at Enjolras. “Great, you broke him. Three years of training, all undone in a minute. _That’s just fabulous._ ”

 

Éponine pushes a glass of water towards Grantaire, and all but forces him to take a sip of it. The cold water seems to bring him back to himself, and Grantaire shoots a horrified look at Enjolras before practically running out of the room. Éponine swears and sprints after him, extending a middle finger in Enjolras’s direction as she goes.

 

                                                                                              ________________________

 

Éponine manages to catch up with Grantaire quickly, mostly due to the fact that Grantaire is really bad at running, and is doubled over on the sidewalk outside the Musain, wheezing.

 

“Ép,” he gasps in between labored breaths. “I can feel… my hormones… fighting… the suppressants. I can… Oh!”

 

Grantaire startles upright, feeling a trail of slick run down his inner thigh.

 

“Shit.”

 

Éponine smells it immediately, and goes into panic mode. She scoops Grantaire off the sidewalk, thanking whatever deity made her decide to start going to the gym at some point, and starts sprinting toward their apartment complex. Thankfully, it’s an unpopular enough neighborhood that there’s no one around on the streets, and no one accosts them on the way. By the time they get to Grantaire’s apartment he’s shaking and whimpering, burying his head in Éponine’s shoulder. She throws him unceremoniously onto his bed, then runs to get him several bottles of water from the kitchen.

 

“Here,” she says, putting them on his side table and pretending not to notice the way he’s humping the mattress. “I’ll be back in the morning with food and water. I will forgive you in advance for any mental scarring you cause me. Make sure you hydrate, or else you will literally die.”

 

“Okay,” Grantaire chokes out between grunts, having to physically restrain himself from ripping his clothes off.

 

She vacates the premises quickly; seeing your best friend’s junk is one thing, seeing your best friend naked and debauched looking is a whole different concept.

 

Once Éponine has closed his bedroom door, Grantaire is ripping his clothes off at top speed; in the case of his t-shirt, literally. He fumbles open the top drawer on his side table, grasping blindly until he finds the biggest vibrator he owns. He reaches down, makes a half assed attempt to finger himself open (pun intended), then gives up and just shoves the damned thing in.

 

It feels better than the shot of heroin he’d tried once during his rebellious teenage phase, and when he turns the vibrator on it’s almost too much. He comes onto his sheets, not even caring as it’s smeared underneath him; too busy working toward yet another orgasm.

 

“Enj-,” he moans, cutting himself off when he realizes what he’s about to say. Then his subconscious takes over without his consent, painting images of Enjolras fucking into him, of a knot swelling inside him, of whispered reassurances that he’s Enjolras’s, only Enjolras’s. He comes again with a weak whine, sobbing into the pillow.

 

It’s still not enough, his cock bobbing up insistently against his stomach, his thighs soaked in a sheen of sweat and slick. Distantly he hears his cellphone ringing from his pants pocket at the foot of the bed. He digs around in the pocket until he finds the phone, and accidentally presses the answer button.

 

“Grantaire?” The voice is slightly tinny, but still recognisably Enjolras’s. “Grantaire, are you there? I wanted to apologize about what happened earlier.”

 

Grantaire sits back on the bed in shock, making a startled whining noise when the movement shifts the vibrator back against his prostate. He immediately claps his hand over his mouth, not too far gone to forget social acceptability.

 

“Grantaire? Are you okay?” the voice continues, sounding concerned.

 

Grantaire manages to compose himself enough to be able to speak semi-coherently.

 

“Yup, m’fine Enjolra-” The end of Enjolras’s name turns into a debauched moan as a new wave of slick pours down Grantaire’s thighs and his hole flutters around the vibrator, seeking something larger.

 

“G-Grantaire? What… exactly are you doing?” Enjolras’s voice has transcended worried and is kind of hovering between horrified and really turned on.

 

“You fucking,” Grantaire lets out a breathy noise near the receiver, rolling his hips into the mattress. “You fucking triggered my heat, you asshole.”

 

“But… I thought you were a beta?” Enjolras just sounds confused now.

 

“I thought… you would have… realized that that wasn’t the case… after… you fucking _smelled_ me,” Grantaire chokes out, his hips stuttering as he comes, _yet again._

 

There is a moment of stunned silence, then an audible deep breath from the other side of the phone.

 

“Then I guess it’s a good thing that I called you instead of going to your apartment like I had originally planned,” Enjolras says in what’s probably a half-assed attempt at a joke.

 

“Y-yeah,” Grantaire says shakily.

 

“So…,” Enjolras trails off, trying to think of something else to say. “Seeing as we’re not in any proximity to each other, and therefore are not influenced by hormones, and you seem to be in a relatively sensible state of mind…”

 

“If you’re trying to ask whether I want to sleep with you, the answer is hell yes. Now get your… fucking… slowass alpha ass… over here,” Grantaire replies immediately, grinding down on the vibrator.

 

“Yessir,” Enjolras says, and quickly hangs up the phone.

 

Grantaire sighs and resigns himself to at least another ten minutes of lying in wait. Those ten minutes are almost unbearable, the constant feeling of emptiness while knowing that relief is _so close_ , but not quite there yet. Finally, the bedroom door slams open to reveal a disheveled Enjolras, hair mussed and pupils blown wide with uncontrolled lust. Grantaire lets out a moan at the smell of _alpha_ , and Enjolras starts stripping as fast as humanly possible.

 

“One second baby, one sec. Gonna get you filled up soon yeah? Don’t worry, I’ll be right there.” Enjolras yanks off his jeans and gives up on his socks, practically throwing himself on top  of Grantaire.

 

Grantaire keens at the sudden onslaught of contact, the noise escalating as Enjolras turns off the vibrator and pulls it out. It’s almost immediately replaced with Enjolras’s tongue, delving deep and twisting, lapping up the slick like it’s water and Enjolras has just emerged from 3 days in the desert without any supplies.

 

“Get on with it,” Grantaire chokes out, even as he shoves his ass back onto Enjolras’s tongue.

 

Enjolras immediately complies, much to Grantaire’s relief, and slides his dick into Grantaire’s ass and the rest of him up to spoon Grantaire’s body in one fluid motion. Grantaire _mewls_ , much to his embarrassment, and shoves his entire body back against Enjolras.

 

“Fuck me,” Grantaire whimpers, craning his neck at an uncomfortable angle to mouth at Enjolras’s throat.

 

Enjolras grunts, then starts pistoning his hips at an impressive speed, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s chest. He flips them so that Grantaire is face down on the bed with his hips canted up, still managing a surprising amount of skin contact. All Grantaire can do is lie there and take it, pushing back against Enjolras and keening. Enjolras leans down and bites the nape of Grantaire’s neck, sending him into the fourth orgasm of the night, this time barely a single spurt. Enjolras moans at the way Grantaire tightens around him, shoving deep and staying there, just to wait breathlessly as his knot expands.

 

Grantaire _screams_ as he’s filled up so full that he can hardly think. Enjolras manages to look concerned, even as he is literally balls deep in Grantaire’s ass.

 

“You… You okay?” he asks, pressing a kiss behind Grantaire’s ear.

 

“Yeah, I’m- fine,” Grantaire chokes out, panting. “It’s not like we could do anything about it if I wasn’t okay, seeing as we’re kind of stuck like this for the next 3 hours.”

 

“Fair enough,” Enjolras replies, laughing breathlessly. “Would you like to switch positions? That looks kind of uncomfortable.”

 

“And whose fault is that?” Grantaire accuses jokingly. “But, yeah. I’m gonna have one hell of a crick in my neck if we don’t switch positions.”

 

“Okay, so just…”

 

Enjolras pulls Grantaire to his chest and rolls them over so that Grantaire is on top, then turns Grantaire around so that they’re facing each other, with Grantaire straddling Enjolras. Grantaire makes a high pitched keening noise as the knot shifts inside him, going deeper than it had before. Once they’ve settled, Grantaire eyes the clock wearily. It says that it’s about midnight, which hopefully means that they’ll be able to sleep for a decently long amount of time after the knot dies down.

 

“So, you wanna see if I can beat my high score on Flappy Bird?” Grantaire asks, reaching for his phone. “Actually, I should probably send a text to Éponine so she isn’t traumatized by trying to come over and give me food in the morning and seeing both of our naked asses instead of just mine.”

 

**R: dont come over in the morning**

**Éponine: y not**

**R: do u want to behold the enjobooty? if not, dont come over in the morning**

**Éponine: oh my god. im going to have words with him when youre both decent; you understand this, right?**

**R: yeah yeah**

 

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Grantaire says, tossing his phone on the bed. “I don’t actually feel like waiting until we get unstuck before sleeping. Let’s go back to the spooning thing, yeah?”

 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

 

Enjolras moves them back to their original position with minimal uncomfortable shifting, and Grantaire sighs in relief as his head touches the pillow.

 

“G’night,” Grantaire mumbles, and falls asleep within minutes.

 

Enjolras curls into his back and breathes in the smell of his hair, smiling smugly when he realizes that the beta shampoo has been almost completely sweated out. He grabs his phone from where he at least had the foresight to put it on the side table, and winces when he sees five missed calls from Combeferre and about twenty texts from Courfeyrac.

 

**Courf: where did u go?**

**Courf: u ran out of here like a bat out of hell; it would have been funny were it not so concerning**

**Courf: srsly dude wtf**

**Courf: eeeeenjooooo**

**Courf: at least tell me ur not dead**

**Courf: bcuz that would be bad**

**Courf: and ferre would reanimate you with his freaky science knowledge just to kill you again for worrying him so badly**

**Courf: enjyyyyy**

**Courf: where r uuuuuu**

**Courf: ferre looks about fifty secs from having an aneurism**

**Courf: y r u doing this to me**

**Courf: enjo**

**Courf: did you get arrested?**

**Courf: if so, sorry to the police guy whos had to listen to ur phone vibrating for the past fifty billion minutes**

**Courf: and if u were murdered, i am so not sorry, guy who killed enjolras**

**Courf: what the fuck man, srsly?**

**Courf: u dont just go around killing peoples friends**

**Courf: that shit is NOT COOL**

**Enjolras: I’m not dead.**

**Courf: IT IS A MIRACLE OF THE LORD**

**Courf: so where r u**

**Enjolras: Apparently Grantaire is an omega?**

**Enjolras: Who knew?**

**Courf: DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT DOES**

**Courf: DID U, VIRGINAL FLOWER OF THE HOUSE ENJOLRAS, DO THE HORIZONTAL MAMBO WITH A CERTAIN BLACK HAIRED BLUE EYED CYNIC???**

**Enjolras: …**

**Courf: OMG**

**Courf: i just told ferre. he rolled his eyes and said ‘of course grantaire’s an omega, couldnt u tell by the circumference of his irises?’**

**Courf: im p sure hes just omnipotent**

**Courf: and also not paying any attention to THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF THE STORY**

**Courf: HOLY SHIT**

**Enjolras: Can you take notes for me in history and politics tomorrow? I don’t need to have notes for the rest of them, but those are kind of important.**

**Courf: sure thing! but srsly, HOLY SHIT**

**Enjolras: Good night, Courfeyrac.**

**Courf: HOLY SHIT**

 

Enjolras turns of his phone and chuckles quietly into Grantaire’s hair. He takes a moment to memorize the feeling of Grantaire’s body pressed against his, and wistfully imagines what it would be like to be with Grantaire like this every night. Enjolras shakes his head slightly, unwilling to entertain that thought before he knows that it’s an actually feasible possibility. He sighs, hears Grantaire mumble incoherently in his sleep, and smiles against the back of his neck.

  
Enjolras closes his eyes, and falls asleep almost as quickly as Grantaire had several minutes before. 


End file.
